You know the type, all moany and self-conscious, pouting and pouring it's heart out to anyone who'll listen and nursing a pint for a good hour. You see my groove's gone missing. Somewhere between the Easter Holidays, DD starting nursery again in the afternoons, her MUCH earlier wake-up calls due to the dawn chorus performing outside her window and me taking on a new web co-ordinator role for our local playgroup, I think. I last saw it before the holidays and we were firm friends, but it seems to have sloped off somewhere while I wasn't looking. I've just been too busy.
Just sitting here and scribbling away on the sofa in that golden period between DD going to bed and OH coming home starving for his dinner I can savour the quiet and just let my head empty out on the page. But the trouble with emptying this particular black hole onto the page is that I often don't like what I find these days.
It's not that there's a barbarian army using my brain as a trojan horse or a three headed monster ready to gobble up the universe while it sits on a turtles back. No, it's that there's LESS in there than I'd hoped. It's quiet. Eerily so. Even the tumble weed is wearing slippers and my usually nagging inner voice is having a break and scoffing a Kitkat. There's nothing there to rattle my creative cage, get my juices flowing, bring be back to the page.
I wonder how long it will take to fill me back up again?
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